


Interiorem Clamoribus

by cadkitten



Category: Dir en grey, Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Bloodletting, Bloodplay, Crossover, Demon Blood Addiction, Demonic Possession, Demons, Destiel - Freeform, Exorcism, Explicit Language, Gen, Humor, Hunters, M/M, Magic, Nudity, Self-Harm, Shadow Entities, Winter, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean hear tell of a possessed vocalist from a foreign band. Signs of demonic activity follow the band on their US tour like the plague and everything about the singer screams demon. They take a little side-trip to investigate and find more than they ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interiorem Clamoribus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elyachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyachan/gifts).



> Prompted by elya-chan to write this. I conceded the moment [this prompt](http://i45.tinypic.com/1zv33ma.jpg) was posted on direngrey_yaoi and ended up writing it. (Prompt pic posted by mad_stalin_69.) Title is Latin, roughly translating to Inward Screams, which will make total sense to the Dir en grey fans among the readers. ;D  
> Beta Readers: gothic_hime  
> Song[s]: "Diabolos" and “Shokubeni” by Dir en grey and “Inward Screams” by Kyo

The steady thrum of the Impala’s engine as they cruised the nighttime roads was something that almost always managed to lull Sam to sleep. It was one of the many reasons why he almost never took a turn behind the wheel and left Dean to do the driving. The other, of course, was because Dean was far too protective of his girl. But right then, the ice and snow on the back roads Dean happened to be using to get to their destination had Sam enough on edge that he wasn’t at all tired. Rather, he was sitting bolt upright in his seat, staring out the windows as the trees shot past on either side of them. He closed his eyes for a single moment and quickly found that it shoved his heart so far up his throat that he had to fight himself not to whimper like a child.

Snapping his eyes open, he shifted a little in the seat, glancing over at Dean, his lips pursed in a thin line. “Think you could slow down a little?”

Dean flashed him a look that clearly said no and then went right back to staring at the road, an all to un-Dean-like behavior that had Sam even more on edge. Usually his brother just tended to drive and not ever look at the damn road, so if he felt it necessary to look, then surely it was dangerous as shit.

With a sigh, Sam tried to sit back, tried to will his body to relax a little bit, knowing well if they crashed he’d have better chances if he were limp rather than stiff as a board. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself, reaching to turn up the heater just a little bit, the chill from the frozen landscape outside the Impala seeping inside just a little too much for his liking. Colorado, he decided, was balls-ass cold.

Almost an hour later, Sam peered up at the sky as snowflakes began to hit the windshield, each fluffy white flake splattering against the window, dying a short death as it hit the warmer surface and melted into water. He wrinkled his nose and reached for the coffee they’d stopped by a little podunk gas station in the middle of this insane backwoods highway for. He took another sip of the bitter liquid, shuddering slightly. It’d been almost twenty minutes since then and it seemed he still hadn’t learned not to drink this swill. Then again, his aim was to stay awake... to keep Dean awake. So perhaps that would be better accomplished with the disgusting liquid inside the flimsy paper cup. He knocked back another mouthful of it and put it back in the cup holder with a disgruntled look.

Settling back in the seat, Sam turned his gaze to a point slightly left of the headlights, watching the black flicker of what he presumed to still be trees pass them by, the moon hidden somewhere in the vast darkness of storm clouds up above. He slid his arms around his middle, perhaps in comfort, perhaps in simple coldness. His every nerve vibrated with the caffeine that coursed through him, as though little race cars were barreling through his system, carrying his cells to and fro. For a moment, his mind settled on the possibility of their death out here tonight, on a road with just the two of them, their car careening off into the trees, snow gently falling over the car, concealing it until thaw. What a way to go... crashed into a pine tree and coated in snow on the outside, blood on the inside. Fitting, he supposed... but not how he’d ever pictured his death. It was somehow far more peaceful than he’d envisioned his final death to be.

Shaking off the image, he picked up the cup of coffee again and popped the lid off, tilting the cup back into his mouth, taking three large swallows to complete it. He made a disgusted sound as he put it back in the cup holder and shuddered slightly.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Fuck yes it is... I should have listened to you and picked up an energy drink. This shit is disgusting.”

Dean let out a quiet laugh. “One day you’ll learn, Sammy.” He shifted forward a little in his seat, peering through the windshield into the snow. After a few more miles, he quietly offered, “It’s coming down hard out there.”

Sam had resorted to looking down at his hands as they twisted incessant knots in his lap. “Yeah...” he returned, “you’re having trouble seeing, aren’t you?” When he received no response, he took it to mean affirmation of his statement and he felt his gut wrench in an unpleasant manner. The uncomfortable silence grew between them until he couldn’t stand another minute of it. With a sigh, he picked up the case file from the seat beside him, flipping it open and squinting at it in the semi-darkness of the car. After a moment, he tossed it back on the leather seat again, determining the lack of light and his worsening eyesight to be a deadly combination in this situation.

“What do we know about this case?”

Sam glanced over at his brother, almost grateful that he’d asked, that he could focus on something other than the road for just a few minutes. “Well, this band that we’re trying to follow... signs of demonic activity have been coming and going in every city they’ve been in since they hit stateside.”

“Where did you say they were from again? China?” Dean wrinkled his nose, leaning closer to the windshield, the car slower than Sam had ever seen Dean drive it before at this point.

“Japan. And I daresay you should remember that, because the Japanese don’t like the Chinese and I don’t want to know what kind of offense they’ll take to it if you mix them up.” Sam sighed, reaching for a stray thread on the bottom of his shirt. He carefully rolled it between his fingers and then tied a knot in it close to the hem, then wound it around his finger and gave it a sharp tug, the thread snapping off. Absently, he began rolling the thread he’d pulled off into a ball, his eyes unfocused.

“Right... so, Japanese. Got it. Anyway... the signs?” The way he asked about it made it almost achingly clear to Sam that he needed something else to focus on rather than just his fear of the bloody road right then and he took a deep breath, going off memory as best he could.

“When they were in Houston, there was a city-wide blackout. It hit the night before the show, about the time their plane would have landed. Only lasted a few seconds and the city’s blaming it on a capacitor blowout, but... the whole city from one capacitor? No way in hell I’ll believe that story.” He shifted a little, squinting off into the darkness, trying to see the trees as they passed by them, but only seeing a dark nothingness instead. A slither of displeasure ran along his spine and he took up staring at the floorboard instead, the faintest glow of his shoes something to focus on instead. “Then in Dallas, there was all manner of random lightning storms, none of them forecasted. Same again in Baltimore. And last night they hit Chicago and a few of the fans posted on one of the fansites that the lead singer seemed to be, quote, almost possessed.”

Sam reached for Dean’s energy drink, plucking it free of the cup holder, and taking a quick drink of it. He put it back, licking his lips a little, seeming quite happy to have something other than the terrible coffee taste in his mouth. 

“Anything else strange?”

“That’s not even the tip of the iceberg on strange with this guy. He regularly mutilates himself on stage, sometimes clawing at himself like he’s trying to let something out, and sometimes just using whatever’s handy to beat the crap out of himself. He does these... things... that sound to me like he’s speaking tongues, and he’s actually been captured on camera a few times with his entire eyes black. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say he’s harboring a demon inside himself, maybe to help him with his... performance.” There was a certain hesitation in his voice before he finally settled on the word performance, not quite sure what else to call it.

Dean shook his head a little. “Maybe the fucker decided it would be better to sell his body to a demon than it would be to get talent the old fashioned way. Certainly wouldn’t be the first musician to do it.”

Sam let out a snort. “Don’t let this fanbase overhear you say that or you might get a bit more than you bargained for. From what I can tell, they rip one another apart on a regular basis. Pretty sure they’d not hesitate to do the same to you or me.” He waited on a response and when he got none, he forged ahead, squinting a little out his window, still unable to find a single tree on their right hand side. “Dean... where the hell did the trees go?”

“Not concentrating on that right now, Sammy.” Dean’s voice clearly implied that Sam needed to stop nagging him about the driving and go back to their prior topic of conversation.

“Right... so, I looked up a few things to do with like... conditional demonic possession. It’s been used by way of amulets over the centuries and I’m pretty sure he’s got a case of it. He’s mild-mannered as hell when he’s not on stage, quiet and withdrawn according to all I can find. But once he’s on stage, it’s like a fucking hurricane. I watched a few of the videos from some of their shows and it’s some freaky shit.”

“Freakier than him ripping himself open in front of the audience?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Sam heaved out a soft sigh and finally pulled his gaze from the void outside his window. “I can’t even describe the atmosphere. If I had to hazard a try, I’d say it’s almost like group possession... or maybe satanic worship. I’ve also found a few references to a cult surrounding the band.”

“Great, so we’re not only dealing with a possessed singer, now we have a cult on our hands?” Dean hazarded a single glance in Sam’s direction, a clearly displeased look on his features before his eyes were back on the snowy white road before them. “This just keeps getting better and better, Sammy. Where the hell do you find this shit?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sometimes it just finds me, Dean. And it’s not like this was a well-hidden case either, I mean it’s slathered across the internet for the majority of their career. Which reminds me. There was this huge jump from their first flop of an album to the next one hitting the top of the charts. And then from there to the next one, they went... darker, I guess you could say. He started showing signs around then, though early-stage type things; excessive sexuality, the ability to draw in so many fans so rapidly. It’s insane how obvious this guy is.”

“Alright... just a standard demonic possession then? Just run-of-the-mill demon and not something weird-ass?”

“From what I can tell, it’s not any particular demon if that’s what you mean. Just one probably feeding off something obvious. Their fans... his soul... maybe another band member if this guy was fucked up enough to wager someone else into it. Hell, it could be anything.” Sam shook his head a little and finally leaned his head back, closing his eyes, and managing not to panic too much this time about the snow-covered roads outside the sleek, black car.

The pair lapsed into silence once again, Dean finally spotting lights up ahead and breathing out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in for the past hour or so. “Civilization... yay.”

Sam arched one eyebrow and raised his head, looking toward the lights and then off to the right side again. What he found took his breath away and had his heart skittering quickly in his chest. Nothing had prepared him for the steep drop-off into nothing that lay about a foot and a half to his right. And no amount of anything could keep him from the prayer he uttered in that moment, “Sweet Jesus, thank you for protecting us from certain death.”

It was a long moment and then from the back seat, ever so quietly, “It has not been Jesus protecting you.”

Dean swore softly under his breath. “Cas, how many times have I told you not to just pop in like that?! You could have killed us!”

Castiel leaned forward in the seat, his arms bracing on the back of the bench Dean and Sam sat upon. “I wouldn’t have let it kill either of you. Who do you think has been guiding you on this road?”

Sam tilted his head back again, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah... thanks for that, by the way.”

A soft noise of affirmation left the angel’s lips. “You will be fine from here on out.” The sound of wings gently fluttering in a cool breeze filled the car for a moment, and then he was gone, the car just occupied as it had been a few moments prior. 

“Remind me not to give credit to Jesus or God in the future, will you? I think it’s sort of become pretty obvious it’s him instead lately.”

Dean let out a grunt as they pulled into town, the first few buildings starting to slide past them on either side. “Yeah... will do.” He followed the signs through the town, his eyes narrowed a little to see past the snow that was still coming down in sheets rather than flurries. “I think we should stop for the night here. It’s about two hours in to Denver in the morning, not a bad shot and much easier in the light of day.”

Sam pointed up the road. “There’s a little motel right there.” He squinted at the sign and then quietly read, “Alpha Motel... what the hell kind of name is that?”

“The name of the motel we’re staying at, that’s what.” Dean carefully navigated the car off the road and into the parking lot, heading for the squat little brown-roofed building that looked like the main office. Parking the car right up front, he cut the engine and reached for the glove box, pulling out their latest set of identities and credit cards. He tossed one to Sam and then stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him, the sound echoing loudly in the eerily quiet street.

He stepped across the cement barrier, currently just a larger mound of white powder, the snow crunching underfoot as he added the first footprints of the night to the pristine, sparkling surface.

Sam waited in the car, his fingers drumming unhappily on his leg. Something about the motel was worse than the last few they’d stayed in, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the fact that just below the name of the hotel, it had to proclaim that they had ‘clean’ rooms, or maybe it was the fact that there was a sign just beneath that informing him that it was $50A ND UP SRDISOUNT. If they couldn’t even space their words right, what kind of people were they dealing with really?

Dean came back out after a few more minutes, carrying a large blue placard with a small bronze key dangling from it. He tapped the window and then went to open the trunk, pulling out their overnight bags. He slammed the trunk lid back just as Sam got out of the car, stepping around back to help him, glancing toward the rickety looking stairs leading toward the second floor of each of the other two tiny buildings on the lot. “Please tell me we’re first floor.”

“We are,” Dean tossed the key to him and gestured. “Thirteen.”

Sam arched one eyebrow at him and then snorted. “Are there even thirteen rooms in this joint?”

“Not by my count.”

“Swell.” Sam hunched himself up against the cold and made his way across the parking lot, his feet shuffling through the loose snow as he went. Upon arriving at the door, he unlocked it and shoved the creaking piece of wood open. Immediately the smell of bleach and cigarette smoke hit him in the face. He groaned. Great, another night filled with headaches from the fumes. “Dean? Why do we never stay anywhere nice?”

“Money and anonymity, Sammy.”

“Right... I just hope this one has hot water.” He tossed his bag down on the single dresser, taking note of the ancient TV, rabbit ears perched on top of the set, and a single disgustingly tan colored phone on the tiny table between the two twin-sized beds. His eyes flicked over the room, taking note that there wasn’t an alarm clock to be found anywhere in the room and the only light was the one perched by the door, casting a horrible yellow glow faintly throughout the room. “Well, isn’t this just homey.”

“Hey, you pointed it out.” Dean tossed his bag on the floor and cautiously peeled back the outer blanket, his fingers expertly avoiding the stains he found there. He lifted the single, thin sheet and huffed out a laugh. “Well, you’ve seen better days, haven’t you?”

Sam glanced over at the sheet, half expecting there to be a strange bug in the bed, or worse a blood stain on the sheets. Instead, he noted he could see completely through the white sheets, everything only vaguely muted by the fabric, but his vision less inhibited through it than the snow falling outside. “Wow.” He pushed his own sheets down and then glanced around the room. “Okay... I concede. I’m not going to shower here. Sleep a few hours until it’s light and then we book it.”

“You bet.” Dean cautiously lowered himself onto the bed, avoiding the pillows altogether, just stretching out cross-wise on the bed and putting his arms under his head, closing his eyes. 

Sam hesitated for a moment and then pulled a shirt from his bag, balling it up and sliding onto his own bed, shoving the pillows off in the floor on the other side, and using his shirt as he lay back. “We find ourselves in some pretty messed up situations sometimes,” he breathed out, shaking his head, not really expecting a reply. A moment later, he heard Dean snore and he let out a quiet laugh. That seemed usual at least, some amount of normal in a sea of the abnormal.

-

By the time Sam woke up the following morning, the sun was reflecting bright into the room through the single curtain-less window. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, his back protesting the movement. Wincing, he pressed his hand to his lower back and sighed. One day, when they were older, they were going to regret all these nights spent in shitty beds, mattress springs poking at their backs every single night.

Dean’s bed was empty and the sound of a toilet flushing signaled where his brother had gone off to. A moment later, Dean emerged from the bathroom, drying his hands on some toilet tissue. “Do not touch those towels, word to the wise.”

“Got it.” Sam pushed himself up and trudged into the bathroom, taking a quick piss, and then washing up his hands, not even daring to use the soap sitting on the dish, deciding it looked like someone else had left it before them and honestly not wanting to know who it could have been. He grabbed some toilet paper and wiped his hands, turning off the sink with it and then tossing it in the waste basket. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I feel gross.”

They double-checked for all of their things before leaving the room, Dean going to drop the key off at the front desk, and Sam going to wait by the Impala.

Fifteen minutes later, they were on the road again, both of them with fresh cups of coffee from a more reputable gas station they’d found just down the road from the motel. Sam leaned back in his seat, happier to be on a well-driven interstate than a backwoods highway to hell. He made himself a bit more comfortable and sagged into the seat with a sigh. “Remind me next time that it’s probably better to just sleep in the car than a place like that.”

“You say that now, but last time you complained all night when we tried.”

“Yeah... well... I take it all back. This is heaven in comparison.” Sam took a sip from the sturdy cup and put it in the cup holder a moment later, staring out the side-window as white flashed by them, occasionally peppered with browns and greens from the parts of the trees that weren’t covered in snow. “We certainly chose the wrong time of the year to come to Colorado.”

“We didn’t choose it, this stupid band did if I’m not mistaken,” Dean responded quietly, his voice very matter-of-fact on the subject.

Sam lightly inclined his head. “Agreed.”

The rest of the ride into Denver was a cake-walk in comparison to the night prior. At some point, Sam picked up a map and examined the road they’d been on and compared it to the length of time they’d been traveling upon it. He tossed the map down on the seat between them. “Would you believe it took us almost five hours to go fifty-eight miles last night? That’s some ridiculous shit right there.”

“And it’s taken us two hours to go over a hundred and fifty today,” Dean returned, looking over at Sammy and smirking slightly. “Some difference that is.”

“Yeah... and this trip hasn’t taken Castiel looking over our fucking shoulders, either.”

Dean gazed out over the road for a few minutes, something slightly off about the way he looked for those few fleeting moments in time.

“Dean, you okay?” Lately every time Sam had mentioned their angel, Dean had ended up with this strange look on his face and for the life of him, Sam couldn’t figure out why.

“Yeah, just fine, Sammy... just fine.” Dean reached over and cranked up the music, _Got my wings_ by Hazy Malaze blasting over the speakers.

For once, Sam didn’t complain about the volume, just tilting his head back and closing his eyes. They’d be in town soon enough and checked into a hopefully less seedy motel so they could wash up and get ready for the concert that night.

Dean slowed down as they cruised past the venue, reaching to nudge Sam a little. “Look at this crazy shit. They’re already lined up around the side of the building. It’s nine in the morning, the concert isn’t until eight tonight.” He shook his head. “You’re right, there has to be something strange going on with this.”

Sam peered out the window at the variety of people in line, seeing all walks of life in the mix. Somehow he’d almost expected a bunch of Emo teens to be the general genre of people flocking to this band, but instead he found a mix of average looking teens, a few obviously Goth mid-twenties girls, a couple of people looking to be almost in their late fifties, and a ton of late twenties to early thirties men and women. “If this isn’t a cult, I have no idea what is.” He gestured at them. “Most of them are wearing the band’s shirts, look. I mean... isn’t it a taboo or something to wear the band’s t-shirt to the concert usually?”

Dean’s shoulders lifted in a partial shrug. “Do I look like I’ve been to a concert in years? How the hell should I know?”

Another fifteen minutes found them at a small motel that looked much less horrible than the one they’d left behind. And when Sam opened the door and stepped into the room, it smelled vaguely of cinnamon and pine. He let out a sigh of relief and dumped his bag on the bed, immediately stripping his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor. “I claim the shower.” With that, he was off into the bathroom, leaving a trail of his shoes and socks along the way behind him.

Once inside the safety of the bathroom, he shed his jeans and boxer briefs, turning on the shower to the hottest he could stand and slipping under the spray with a soft sigh of pleasure. This was definitely more like it. He picked up the little bottle of shower gel and squeezed half of it into his hands, lathering it up and scrubbing it all over his body, a satisfied smile on his face.

Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the steamed-up room, a towel tight around his waist and his clothing in hand. “Clean at last!” he announced to Dean, who was sitting on the very edge of the bed, his shirt off, and his fly open, a sort of half-asleep look to his eyes.

“Good for you, Sammy.” Dean stood up, stretching a little, his jeans riding low enough for Sam to get more of a look at the fact that Dean wasn’t wearing any underwear than he’d ever wanted.

“Shit, man... either go take a shower or close your damn pants.” Sam stepped over to his bad, dropping his clothing on the pile on the carpet, rooting around in the bag for a clean pair of underwear.

“Mmm... difficult to keep your pants closed when you-“

Sam held up his hand. “Do not say it. I don’t want to fucking know.”

Dean chuckled, brushing past him and slipping into the bathroom and closing the door.

Sam finished dressing and pulled out his laptop, plugging it in and setting about doing some last minute research on the band. By the time Dean came back out, Sam had only found more evidence to lend credibility to the theory that the vocalist was harboring a demon somewhere inside his five foot two inch body. He glanced up, happy to find that Dean was fully clothed, the other looking much more refreshed than he had going into the shower.

“We’ve got five hours to kill... burgers? I hear there’s a joint in town that made it on that show with the guy that goes to amazing diners all over the globe.” Dean patted his stomach. “And I’m running on empty here.”

“One day all these burgers are going to kill you.” Sam pushed himself up from the table, contemplating if there was such a thing as a grilled chicken sandwich at a place known for their burgers.

“I somehow think that’s the least of my worries.” He gestured around him. “The world is full of demons in a full-on apocalypse and you’re worried about me consuming burgers. That’s just fucking classic, Sammy.”

Sam huffed out a laugh and double-checked his pockets to make sure he had their current IDs, credit cards, and some cash. “Let’s go... I need to find a printer to get our tickets printed out.”

“Tell me again why we’re buying tickets and not just getting in as press?”

“Because they apparently are not letting press into this event. Something to do with Japanese record labels.” Sam shrugged a little. “This is much easier.”

“Easier... and more costly.” Dean closed the hotel room door behind them and made sure it was locked before making his way to the car and unlocking it, slipping inside and opening the door for his brother.

Sam sat back in the familiar seat, his phone pressed to his ear as he listened to a few voicemails he’d gotten over the harrowing night. Tossing his phone on the seat, he sighed and gazed out the window at the passing storefronts, much more comfortable like this. “Bobby says there’s been some lightning storms east of here. Could be nothing, could be an omen.”

“With what you were describing earlier, I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s them on their way here.”

Something that Sam never seemed to actually grow tired of was the fact that no matter how many times he and Dean found some random place to sit down and eat, they were both predictable as clockwork. Dean would always order the unhealthiest burger on the planet with a load of fries on the side, a beer, and two shots of Jack on the side. And Sam would order a beer and the healthiest thing he could find, the combination making little sense to those looking at them from the outside.

They took their sweet time, the pair of them lazing around as they ate, Sam chewing on his club salad and Dean chowing down on his double bacon avocado cheeseburger. Sam was almost certain there had to be a couple thousand calories between everything on Dean’s plate and loads more fat than Dean could ever hope to process. But then, he wasn’t the one who had to deal with the repercussions, so he kept his mouth tightly closed on the subject, eating his salad with only a drizzle of ranch dressing across the top of it.

By the time they’d paid and left the diner, the sun was nearing its way down below the city’s horizon, and the snow was only a memory painted on the sidewalks and rooftops, the sky clear as a bell. Sam had borrowed the printer at the small internet café across the street from the restaurant and printed out their tickets. The pair made their way back to the venue, parking around the block from the place and walking up to it. Much to their surprise, they found that the line now stretched down the block and was near to actually turning the corner onto the next street. They joined the line and Sam leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed lightly over his chest as he gave Dean a knowing look.

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam shook his head ever so slightly, his gaze flickering to the couple in front of them. The girl was dressed in a fashion style that surprisingly Dean had been the one to tell Sam about some years back. What had he called it? Oh yes, Lolita. It consisted of frilly skirts, petticoats, and blouses, and more than a little bit of what Sam could only call cutesy. The male with her was dressed in a baggy pair of cargo pants with blue straps hanging from each side, and a lime green tight-fitting shirt, his long black hair tied back into a loose ponytail of sorts. An unlikely couple if Sam had to say so.

Near an hour later, the line began to move, a couple people in the front screaming excitedly as they were let into the venue. By the time Dean and Sam were let inside, only one person behind them in line, Sam was near certain that they wouldn’t even find room to breathe, much less a place to stand. His eyes swept over the tiered venue, his gaze shooting upward to the balcony above them. Some part of him wanted to go up there, out of the way, but the other part knew that it was probably best to be closer to the front if they hoped to actually witness this man’s possession firsthand.

With that thought in mind, Sam maneuvered their way to the front tier of people, slightly to the right of center stage, eyeing the setup with some amount of worry. This didn’t look like the setup he’d seen on the videos online and those had been fairly consistent. He pulled the ticket from his pocket and read over it quickly, finding that there was an opening band up first and he stuffed it back in his pocket with a little huff of breath.

People jostled around, a few girls talking animatedly about the guitarist, Die, and how excited they were that they were going to be right up front and so close to him. Sam shot Dean a look and pushed his hands into his pockets. If he’d ever heard of a more fitting name for a demonically possessed vocalist’s guitarist, he certainly didn’t recall it. Dean seemed somehow distracted, gazing around himself at all the women, all so tightly packed into the small area. Sam’s hand shot out and he smacked Dean’s arm. “Focus.”

The elder stared at him, his eyes clearly saying what his mouth was not. But a moment later, the lights darkened, and the crowd set up a deafening scream, everyone surging forward, Dean and Sam getting crushed up against the people in front of them. Okay, so in retrospect, maybe being _this_ close had been a mistake. He struggled to get his hands out of his pockets and then found he had no idea what to do with them beyond that. After a moment, he brought them up in front of him, wedging them between himself and the person in front of him as a sort of buffer, his eyes darting around nervously. Such tight quarters and both he and Dean almost completely unarmed given the pat-down they’d had at the entrance.

A few moments later, the opening band filed out on stage, a few people cat-calling the lead singer, a slim and rather attractive woman, and a few of the girls who’d been talking about the main band’s guitarist reaching for the rainbow-haired male that walked across stage in front of them to take up his spot somewhere out of Sam’s range of vision for the time being.

After the first song, which honestly Sam found to be pretty good, the crowd seemed to give up on pushing, and sort of fell back a step or so, providing breathing room to almost all of the occupants of the pit area. One glance at Dean found him utterly enraptured with the vocalist, and that was of no surprise to Sam given that he’d already seen a flash of her panties at least twice since the show had begun.

When the final song was announced, the crowd seemed to launch back into active mode, pinning against one another once again, some of the group thrashing around, others just pumping their fists in the air, and a selective few singing along as loud as they dared.

Once they left the stage, Sam half expected the crowd to relax again, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. As the roadies removed the opening band’s items and set up the main group’s stuff, people only pressed in closer, random cheers going up every few seconds, someone screaming out the vocalist’s name, which Sam still had a bit of trouble wrapping his tongue around; Kyo. He muttered it to himself under his breath, trying to get it right from the way the person had screamed it, but quickly gave up, realizing Japanese was just not his language.

As soon as the lights dimmed a second time, the crowd began to scream in a manner that Sam could only identify as pained. It was as if the air were filled with the cries of a million people whose souls were being ripped from their very chests. Someone screamed out, “Dir en grey!” from the front and that set off a chorus of the band member’s names from the various sections of the floor. “Shinya! Kyo! Die! Toshiya! Kaoru!” The crowd made another surge forward, all of the air Sam had managed to squeeze into his lungs from his prior position whooshing out of his body in one sharp push.

Beside him, Dean looked absolutely elated, his fist in the air and a light in his eyes that Sam found honestly a bit troubling. But then, his brother had always been the one with a wild streak, perhaps he had held some sort of desire to be involved in such a thing in the past. Turning his gaze back to the stage, he watched as the band began to file out, first the drummer, a skinny, frail-looking man that Sam quickly deducted must have made a pact with a demon in order to even get his delicate form to produce the sound he had heard on the recordings. Behind him, came the guitarist the girls had been calling Die, his tall, lean form much more sustaining to being able to provide the sounds Sam knew him capable of, but the fact of the matter was... he was just too attractive for a man. Incubus, Sam decided with a small nod.

He couldn’t see past the extraordinarily tall man to watch the other guitarist and bassist come out, but the moment that the vocalist hit the stage, Sam was certain the air in the venue became alive with whatever supernatural power this man possessed. Screams sliced through the air, the crowd center-stage pressing forward even more, and the hunter found himself happy he wasn’t in that mass for the time being.

Without a single word to the crowd, the band launched into their first song. Sam found himself being buffeted around, everything he tried to do ineffective and his very desire to stay still utterly useless. Within minutes, he was wrenched apart from Dean, the elder slipping more into the central tide as he himself got pulled toward the guitarist a bit more. Still, he kept his eyes on the vocalist as he moved between soaring high-notes and gut-wrenching screams that sounded like hell itself was being unleashed from his chest.

Four songs in, Sam watched in pure awe as the vocalist dropped the microphone to the metal crate he stood upon, spread his arms wide, and encouraged the crowd to cheer. And cheer they did, screaming until their voices broke, pressing forward until Sam was certain he would die here tonight, trampled by an unyielding crowd of devout followers. The man turned and jumped down from the crate, scooping up his microphone and pivoting in just enough time to bend over double, letting loose a scream that seemed to almost break his small frame.

Briefly, Sam glanced at the guitarist, the man’s hair blowing in the wind from his own personal fan, not a drop of sweat on his flawless skin, and he shook his head, looking away again, lest he be sucked in by the proverbial siren’s call, as the men and women around him already seemed to be.

The next thing Sam knew, all of the band members had left the stage save for the vocalist, who was crouched upon his crate, fingers wrapped over the edge of it, knuckles white as he leaned closer to the crowd than Sam would have dared with these people. His face was a mask of what the hunter may have tried to describe as hatred as he stared out over his followers, his eyes narrowed, his entire body drenched with his efforts from tonight’s show. Slowly, he sank back on his knees, bringing the microphone to his mouth, his other hand reaching to cup around it. And the next things that Sam heard had him one hundred percent convinced that they were most certainly dealing with a demonic presence.

A heavy tribal drum beat sounded, echoing through the venue, the sound of rainfall slipping over the speakers. An almost lulling sounding wail filled the air, the low growl of a beast following fast at its heels. And then the small vocalist’s eyes rolled back in his head, the rasping sounds of a man being consumed by a demon echoing over the speakers. One of the vocalist’s arms slid up, wrapping tightly around his own head, his hand hanging limply behind his head before it began to flap in a manner that most surely nailed down demonic possession. Sam’s jaw slowly dropped as he watched the crowd stare up at this man in complete reverence, all of them perfectly silent as he began to slap himself with his hand, knocking harshly into the side of his head as he flailed about in this strange manner.

A sound like a sigh slipped through the PA and then a thin, high-pitched wail, followed by a demonic voice, unrecognizable words slipping from his mouth as his arm slowly uncurled from around his head, his body slowly rising to stand, then one arm flinging out to the side, his form slouching forward, a strange sort of inward groan slipping from him. Sam watched in almost horror as the singer’s face tipped up toward the crowd and the most demonic laughter he’d ever heard in all his years passed by those lips, the look on the man’s face absolutely insane. There were no other words to describe it... and yet... he felt drawn, as though he couldn’t look away, as though his very heart yearned for what was happening right then.

He found himself pressing forward with the rest as the vocalist dropped the microphone to the crate, the thump of it shocking through the venue as he straightened up and stared at out them, his strong voice still making its way through the venue, a growl that seemed to level out into almost whale-like noises caressing his senses. And then in the next moment, the vocalist’s fist connected with his own face, punching again and again, bringing blood to his mouth that he allowed to overflow past his lips, sliding down his chin, and dripping onto his chest.

Sam found his heart racing, his desire for the forbidden substance oddly hard to control even being pinned in the crowd like this. His hands grasped the person in front of him, trying to peel them away from his path, desperation filling his every action. A few more raspy seconds of the vocalist’s last sound and then the dual guitars picked up, curling in around the sounds he was making, caressing it with gentle fingers, and Sam found the urge ebbing away in that moment, an odd feeling replacing it as the crowd swept him up in their excitement. The drums and bass kicked in and for the next half an hour, it was all Sam could do to simply keep himself upright and conscious. 

The moment the show was over with, the crowd let up, most of them stumbling away in various directions. By the time Sam found his brother, Dean was holding two cups of water and shoved one at Sam, slipping his arm around his shoulders. “That was the most intense thing I have ever experienced,” he confessed, looking a little bit shocked himself.

Sam nodded, feeling almost numb now that all the stimulus was gone. He wet his lips a little and took a sip of the water. “So... demon?”

Dean shook his head. “I got right up there in the front by the end and honestly, I don’t see a thing that points to that at all. I just see a very... oddly... talented man.”

“From where I was standing, it looked more like a demon, Dean.”

“Well maybe you need glasses, Sammy.” Dean patted his shoulder. “Either way, I sweet talked my way into finding out where they’re staying tonight. We should be able to find out a thing or two from there.”

Sam pushed his way out the doors, thankful they were behind the crowd and there wasn’t really anyone left hanging around, most all of them having wandered off by then. “Alright... so we go wait them out then.”

“No need.” Dean led the way to the Impala, opening the doors and sliding inside. He smirked in his brother’s direction. “They’re staying at our hotel.”

The next few minutes were spent with the pair of them getting into the car and maneuvering out of the parking lot ahead of the tour bus. It only took them the short drive to hotel and Sam was out in an instant, his nose wrinkled a bit. “I think we may well smell worse than we do with blood all over us.”

Dean slipped out of the car, holding a small black bag clutched in his hands.

Sam eyed him in an odd sort of fashion. “What’d you pick up?”

The elder gave him a look and then shrugged a little. “Okay, so maybe I think they’re talented musicians.”

For once in his life, Sam chose to refrain from saying anything. Granted, he had found the whole concert experience exhilarating, but the truth of the matter was, he was still under the impression they were dealing with a demon, a demon pact, and perhaps an Incubus. And with that track record, he wasn’t entirely certain what the other two members of the band probably had up their sleeves on top of that. He figured they could ignore the demonic pact, that really wasn’t their problem if the drummer had sold his soul for strength. It would be his come the ten year mark... more or less, depending on how good of a negotiator the guy had been.

Stepping inside their room, he immediately went to take the world’s fastest shower, putting on the cleanest clothing he had left, huffing out an agitated sort of sigh. “We need to find a Laundromat sometime soon.”

Dean took a fast shower just behind him, pretty much ignoring Sam’s comment, and when he came back out, he was in a tight black t-shirt and well-fitting jeans, something Sam didn’t even realize the other owned. Shaking his head, he carefully put a knife in his boot and his gun in the waistband of his pants. Into his pocket went the holy water and salt. He didn’t really need the exorcism book any longer, having memorized the few best ones. “Let’s get this plan on the road. Did you get room numbers?”

Dean pointed above them. “Three o’ four. It’s the vocalist’s. Three o’ nine is the guitarist’s that was on your side, and the others I don’t recall the exact locations, but the following three rooms down the hallway.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” Sam pulled open the door and gestured Dean out. He moved along behind his brother to the stairs, taking them two at a time, arriving at the vocalist’s room, he took a deep breath, backing up and looking ready to kick it in. Dean’s hand on his shoulder gave him pause and he shook his head a little, giving him a questioning look. “What?”

“Let me handle this one.” He stepped up to the door and simply knocked, leaving Sam’s mouth hanging open.

“What the hell, Dean? Since when do we knock on a fucking demon’s door?” he hissed out.

Dean shot him a look. “I’m telling you, I don’t think he’s possessed. He poured some holy water over his fingers and waited on the door to open. A moment later, it did, and the short vocalist stood there, staring at the pair of them, a weary look on his face. After a moment, he managed, “Yes?” though it sounded strained, his voice raw from the show and his temper obviously short.

Dean cleared his throat and then stuck his hand out. “Hi, we have a few brief questions for you.”

The vocalist stared at them for a long few moments before taking Dean’s hand and shaking it, not seeming at all affected by the holy water on his fingers. “I...um...” he held up one finger and pulled his phone from his pocket, opening it, and dialing a number. A few moments later, he was speaking rapidly in Japanese, still holding that single finger up as if to have Dean and Sam on pause. He hung up and a moment later, the door down the hallway opened and the lanky guitarist from earlier stepped out, coming down the hallway, a Heineken clutched in his hand. “Can we help you?” He gestured at the vocalist. “He doesn’t speak much English.”

Sam stared between the two, a feeling of dread sweeping over him. Even if this guy wasn’t a demon, then this one was surely still an Incubus, and that couldn’t mean good things for being almost alone with him.

Dean turned to smile at the newest arrival, reaching to shake his hand as well. “Dean, and this is my brother Sam.”

The slightly shorter man gave a slight incline of his head, taking Dean’s hand and shaking it before taking a swig of his beer. Once he’d swallowed, he gestured at the vocalist. “Kyo. And I’m Die.”

Dean smiled at the pair of them and then nodded toward Kyo. “We have a few questions for him.”

“Interview?” Die asked, his brow creasing slightly in a perplexed manner. This was highly unorthodox and his confusion on the matter was completely evident upon his face.

“Not really. We have other business with you. Nothing to do with an interview for any papers or anything.”

“I see...” Die gestured at Kyo’s room and the vocalist stepped back, allowing the three to enter, closing the door behind them and going to sit on one of the chairs, his hands clasped between his thighs, his dark eyes following them across the room.

Sam cleared his throat. “Do you know who we are?” Naturally, he found there should be an obvious reaction to their presence if the demon knew who they were.

Die shook his head and then translated for Kyo, who shook his head as well. 

Dean settled on the edge of the dresser and then nodded toward the vocalist. “See... we’re hunters... _demon_ hunters, and my brother here thinks you,” he gestured at the vocalist, “are most definitely one.”

The guitarist let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Good one.” But when Dean leveled him with his most serious gaze, he instantly sobered up, looking more confused than anything all of a sudden. “Wait... you’re serious? Demons?” He took a single step back, looking at them like he’d just let a pair of crazies into Kyo’s room. And, honestly, his crazy meter was already pretty damn high, given a lot of their fans. 

Sam pulled the flask of holy water free from his pocket. “Two simple tests that will ensure if either of you are or are not.”

Kyo and Die exchanged worried looks and then Kyo nodded once, having at least understood that much. “Do it.”

Sam held up the flask. “Holy water.” He watched for a reaction, neither of them looking afraid, and then he flicked some over Kyo chest and then over Die’s cheek and neck, who looked a little peeved about being suddenly wet. But neither of them reacted in a painful sort of manner. He pulled the salt from his bag and poured a circle of it on the floor, then gestured at Kyo. “You first. Get in the circle.”

Die translated quietly to Kyo and the vocalist looked between them. “You’re crazy,” he offered, his accent heavy in the words, before he stood up and stepped into the circle and then back out of it. He gave them both a look that clearly asked if they were satisfied, annoyance written all over his body language.

“Now you,” Sam gestured at the guitarist, watching as he did the same, satisfied after a moment that both of them were not demons at the very least. He pointed one slim finger at the guitarist. “You, though... there’s still something off about you.”

Dean sighed. “Sammy, don’t you think maybe you’re just unwilling to admit that you were wrong? They’re just humans... very talented humans.”

Die looked between the pair of them and then let out a soft snort. “Wait, so you’re completely serious? This isn’t some fucked up prank Kuroo or Rick put you up to?”

Sam’s head snapped back in his direction, having been briefly distracted because the vocalist had been lazily drawing patterns in the drying blood on his chest, a bored look on his face. “Yes, we’re serious!”

“Not we... you,” Dean clarified, rolling his eyes a little, obviously already out on this one, not believing a damn thing was going on with this band.

Die carefully took one step closer and tossed his empty beer bottle into the trash bin by Dean’s side. “Um... well... what exactly do you think is so off about me... Sam, was it?”

Sam’s eyes reflected suspicion as the other moved and then irritation flicked across his face as the other asked the question in such a manner. “Yes... and you draw them in, all of your little fans are suckered into you. My suspicion was on incubus, but you’re not a demon.” He moved closer to him and studied him. “What are you?”

Die’s mouth moved for a moment and then he offered quietly, “Japanese?”

At that, Dean rocked back against the dresser and let out a loud laugh. “Nice one, man.” He pushed himself up from the surface and then started to herd Sam toward the door. “Look... we’re sorry to have disturbed you, but as much as we seem like a couple of loons, we really do have a serious job.” He paused to look at the vocalist and then back at the guitarist. “Please apologize for us and for the treatment.”

Die opened his mouth to translate, but a moment later the door clicked open and a short Pilipino woman entered the room, her eyes alight with a vengeful fire. She jabbed her finger at Dean and Sam. “What are you doing in here? Press is not allowed!” She stepped between them and Kyo, placing her short form between them, radiating the air of a woman ready to fight for her charges.

Dean opened his mouth, but Die’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “They were just leaving, Nora. It’s okay.” He reached for the flask that Sam still held in his hand, pulling it from his fingers, and unscrewed the lid. He poured a little into his hand and tossed a little on Nora’s arm. “See...” he muttered in Dean’s ear, “harmless, just pissed.”

Sam took the flask back and all but stomped out the door. Dean, however, lingered for a moment, studying the guitarist. “Hey...” he pulled out a business card and held it out to Die, “if you see anything... strange, yes?” It was an off-chance, maybe foolish, but it seemed something he needed to do right then.

Die took the card and pushed it into his pocket. He held up a finger and then spoke to Kyo in Japanese for a moment. Kyo responded and Die let out a soft laugh before clapping Dean on the shoulder. “He says you’re not so bad, but your brother is psycho.”

Dean snorted. “You have no idea.” He offered an incline of his head to the woman who had come in. “Sorry to disturb, Ma’am, but I do promise this was nothing to do with press.” With that, he took his leave as well, heading down the hall toward the stairs and where he sort of hoped like hell Sam had gone.

Once he was downstairs, he found his brother leaning against the Impala, his arms crossed over his chest in a very irritated sort of manner. He sighed softly. “Sammy, seriously, what’s going on?” He leaned against the post opposite the car and gave Sam a truly confused look. “Things have been a bit... strange... for a while now with you.”

“I’m not strange!” Sam glared at him for a moment and then pursed his lips, staring down at the ground between them. “There’s all the signs of something evil brewing in the areas they’re going through. Something is up and it’s got to be one of them. I mean, there’s still the other guitarist and the bassist.”

“And the rest of the staff, you know. It doesn’t have to be the band,” Dean offered quietly, his arms crossed over his chest. “And what do you expect us to do? Shower them all in holy water?”

“Switch out the water at the next show, all of it. Throw salt on stage... I don’t know.”

“Are you mad?” Dean tilted his head back. “Do you have any idea how mad that woman was at us? It’s like she’s a mother hen or something, I thought for sure she was going to rip us both a new one.”

Sam sighed, pushing one hand through his hair in an agitated sort of manner. “Something’s going on and we’re damn well going to find out what.”

Dean made a little face as his phone started going off in his pocket. It wasn’t a number he recognized and he flipped it open. “Yes?” After a moment, he looked vaguely surprised. “One o’ four. Yeah... that’s fine.” He hung up the phone and stared at Sam for a moment. “The guitarist wants to talk to me, but he requested it be just me, you sort of wig him out.”

Sam glowered at him for a moment. “Fine... but ten minutes and I’m coming in, done or not.” He motioned for the keys. “So I don’t look fucking creepy out here.”

Dean tossed him the keys to the Impala and then moved to his room, unlocking the door and making sure the place was clear before simply waiting in the doorway. A few minutes later, the guitarist came down the stairs, holding a six pack of Heineken in his hand and a lit cigarette in the other. He tossed the cigarette on the ground and crushed it out with his boot before moving to the door and smiling a little at Dean, offering him the six pack.

Dean took the offered drinks and shifted back. “Come in.”

Die crossed the threshold of the room easily, making his way inside and right to the table.

Dean followed, each of them taking a chair across from one another. He opened two beers and passed one to Die, leaning forward against the table. “So... what did you want to talk about?”

Die took a deep breath and then sighed softly. “You said anything unusual, yes?”

“Anything. Even strange little quirks or... I don’t know, just things that seem random. I’ll be honest. There’s been signs of demonic activity following you everywhere since you landed in the US. And the way your vocalist acts, it’s classic demonic possession.” He shrugged a little. “But he passed all the tests, so even if he had one dormant in him, it would have shown up with the tests.”

Die shook his head. “No, Kyo’s just... well... he’s Kyo. I know that doesn’t make sense to anyone else, but that’s how he is and it makes for a damn good show.” He crossed one slim leg over the other, watching carefully as Dean’s eyes slid over him. He offered a tiny smirk and then took a swig from the bottle, licking the rim just after and placing it back on the table. “Is there more proof I need to give that I’m clean?”

Dean swallowed a little, watching Die almost seem to play with him. He shifted slightly on his chair. Sam was right about one thing, this man was definitely too attractive for his own good. “No, you’re fine as far as I can tell. But I was thinking maybe staff... I don’t know.”

Die nodded and then gazed across the room. “There’s someone on staff I’ve thought maybe has ulterior motives for being around us.” He studied Dean for a long moment and then murmured, “But he’s not harming anyone... does it have to be a bad thing? I mean... not all demons are out for evil, right?”

“That’s pretty much in the job description,” Dean replied, taking a long swig of his own beer and then putting it down on the table, his fingers playing around the bottom of the glass. “Who and how?”

“Our tour manager, Rick. He’s... well, he’s always seemed just a little too enthused to help us when we come over. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but it’s like there’s maybe another reason behind it. And at the start of the tour, he’s always so sick, but by the end he’s practically glowing with health and vitality and it’s like he’s a new man.”

Dean leaned forward a little and studied Die for a long moment. “Has he always seemed like that?”

Die shook his head. “These last two tours. Before that, he was just... normal old Rick. Happy to help us, but not... strangely eager.” He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair. “Listen, I only tell you this because you make me feel like maybe I’m not crazy for feeling like something’s up with him, you know?”

Dean reached for Sam’s laptop, opening it and bringing up the browser, quickly typing in a few search terms, pulling up some information. “Trust me, I understand how crazy we look. And I’m super sorry for Sam being so abrupt.” He paused for a moment as he scanned a page and then looked up at Die, giving him a wry smile. “Truth of it is, I’m usually the one who rushes in on assumption and he’s usually the sane voice of reason. But, I dunno, I think he was a little upset by the fact that you guys sort of earned yourself another fan in me tonight.” He gestured at the bag on the bed, the tip of the band’s CD sticking out of it.

The guitarist smiled a little and reached for it, pulling it out of the bag and turning it over and over in his hands. After a moment, he took hold of the cellophane that wrapped it and began pulling it off. “You know, it’s always nice to get a new fan, though a shame your brother’s upset with you for it.” His eyes flickered up to Dean’s and he shrugged a little. “What do you like about it?”

“I’m a big rock and roll fan and some of those guitar riffs are killer.” Dean absently gave his reply as he scrolled through a few more sites, gathering information on what might be wrong with this Rick guy. “And the energy. Wait... that’s it!”

“Huh? What’s what?” Die put the unwrapped CD on the table and sat there, wadding up the cellophane in his hands, sort of a nervous gesture.

“Energy... maybe he’s a shadow entity. Or rather, maybe he’s got a shadow entity inside him, using him to get what it needs. I mean, it’d be the perfect set up!” He leaned forward. “Think about it. Not the center of attention, but always in the venue during shows. You guys cause so much excitement in the fans that it would be able to feed off the energy readily and no one would ever suspect a thing.” He tapped the table. “And it would explain why on earth everyone’s so exhausted after every single show... and why by the end, it felt like someone had flipped my happy switch on and off a million times.”

Die just stared at him, a sort of blank look on his face, shaking his head a little. “Sorry... you lost me.”

Dean stood up. “Not a problem, man, but we can fix this super easy. Just have to cleanse it out of his system.”

Die quirked an eyebrow at him. “Cleanse?”

“Yeah. Sage and a little spell should clear it right up.” He studied Die for a moment. “Is he in this building?”

Die gave a slow nod and then pointed upstairs again. “He’s in the room with Kyo right now.”

Dean pushed himself up from the chair and went to his bag, rummaging around and coming up with a few branches of sage. He pulled out a few candles and a piece of paper and a red pen. “We can do it in the hallway.”

Die shook his head. “My room? It’s next to Kyo’s.” He stood up as well, draining his beer and then picking up another from the six pack, using his belt to open this one and tossing the lid down on the table.

At the door, Dean paused and studied him. “Why are you being so agreeable to all of this?”

The guitarist shrugged a little and then gave him an embarrassed sort of smile. “I believe in ghosts and I guess demons aren’t that far of a jump right? Plus... Japan is full of creepy lore, so I guess I grew up with an open mind. Kyo did, too, but he’s... cranky?”

Dean let out a quiet laugh and followed Die out the door, finding Sam on the other side of it. “Come on, Sammy, we’re cleansing this joint.”

“Of what?” Sam fell into step beside them, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Shadow entity.”

Sam gave him an incredulous look. “But... they’re so easy to get rid of.”

“What? You only want the hard ones or something?” Dean thrust the paper and pen at him. “You do the circle. We’re going to Die’s room and he’ll be in the next one over, he’s in talking with Kyo. So keep your damn voice down.”

The three trudged up the stairs and Die used his keycard to get into his room, opening the door and gesturing them inside, closing it behind himself and then gesturing to the door that joined his room with Kyo’s.

Wordlessly, the brothers went about setting up the necessary spell work, Sam lighting the candles and Dean lighting the sage, slowly waving it under the door of the room. Sam began to chant under his breath, tossing salt across the candle’s flame every few seconds.

There was a thump from the other room and then Kyo’s worried voice, followed by, “Die!!!” and the door between the rooms was ripped open, Kyo standing on the other side, looking absolutely terrified. He spouted off something in Japanese and Die stepped past Dean and Sam, moving quickly to Rick’s fallen form. Kyo continued talking and Die glanced back at the brothers.

“Is it normal that he’d just pass out if it were one of those shadow things?”

Dean glanced at Sam, who was still chanting, and then nodded, getting up and going to kneel by him, holding the sage over his face, letting the smoke inside his body. “Yeah, I think it is,” he murmured quietly. “It’s probably been feeding off of him this whole time, too. He might be weak for a while, but not anything serious I wouldn’t think... unless it hadn’t fed recently, but that concert tonight should have been plenty.”

A few moments later, Rick let out a wheeze and the tall blonde American man slowly struggled to sit up, letting out a feeble sort of cough and looking around in an almost confused sort of manner. His eyes flicked over Dean, ignoring him after a moment and going right to Kyo and Die. “Are we... on tour?”

Die immediately stared at Dean. “Normal?”

Sam appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed over his abdomen. “Yes. What’s the last thing you recall?”

Rick blinked at him and then studied the floor for a moment. “I was at home and we were having Thanksgiving dinner.”

Kyo gave Die a worried look and Die briefly translated everything that was going on, Kyo’s face transforming into a mask of pure concern. A moment later, he was helping Rick off the floor and onto the bed, handing him a bottle of water, and then sitting next to him, doing his best in very broken English to explain to Rick what all he’d done since Thanksgiving that he knew about.

Dean quietly gave Die the rundown of what all would probably transpire from what he knew on this sort of stuff, and then the three retreated into Die’s room, he guitarist closing the door behind them. He leaned back against the wood paneling and gave Dean and Sam the most grateful look the pair had ever seen. “I just... I’m sorry we thought you were crazy at first. And... thank you.” He gestured a little and then managed, “Rick means a lot to us.”

Dean clasped Die’s shoulder for a moment. “Hey, just remember, we’re always a phone call away, okay? Anymore crazy shit, give us a ring.” With that, the pair picked up their stuff and headed for the door.

“Wait... please.” Die came toward the pair of them and then held out his hand.

Dean titled his head a little and then held his hand out, watching as Die dropped a small keychain into his hand. He held it up, examining it, and then gave Die a questioning look.

“It’s called hotei.” The guitarist smiled. “For good luck. If you guys do what you say... then... you’ll need that.”

Dean clasped his fingers around it and gave Die a single nod. “Thank you. But... don’t you still need it?”

Die smiled and shook his head. “I have several. And you need that one more than I do.” He lifted his hand in a little bit of a wave. “Well... it’s been... exciting.”

“It has,” Dean returned, stepping outside the door finally, joining Sam in the hallway.

Sam lifted his hand to return Die’s little wave. “I’m sorry I sort of... assumed the worst.”

“No hard feelings, man.” He leaned out and smirked. “Between us, it’s an easy mistake with Kyo.” With a wink, he leaned back in and waved. “No offense, but I hope not to have to see you guys again.”

“None taken... none taken.” With that, the brothers were off down the hall, leaving a very bemused guitarist staring after them.

“This has to be one of the strangest cases we’ve ever taken on... and easiest,” Dean commented quietly on their way down the stairs.

Sam paused and then sighed, staring out into the parking lot to a figure standing by their Impala. “Nothing... is ever as easy as it seems.”

**The End**


End file.
